What Becomes of The Brokenhearted
by jenajasper
Summary: Sometimes, the angels can't fix everything and life goes on anyway. (Swan Song) I meant to put chapters 2 and 3 out together
1. Chapter 1

What Becomes of The Brokenhearted

The two friends, all put back together, said their goodbyes as Dean prepared to start a new life. He tossed his bag in the back seat. He was still unable to look into the trunk without the memory of the jugs of poison that killed his brother.

It was only a short time ago that Dean drove into Stull Cemetery. Did Sam think that the last time they saw each other would be in that filthy Detroit hotel room, with that monster?

He had hoped to speak to his brother and tell him he was not alone. But he met Lucifer instead, and the conversation started badly.

It began with a toss onto the windshield. It ended with Sam dragging Adam to be swallowed up by the earth. Bloody, beaten and alone, Dean was witness to this.

He stared at the solid patch of ground and thought, it wasn't important, but he couldn't determine which pain was worse, inside or out.

Dean's thoughts returned to the present. He would have preferred that the car was facing out towards the road so he wouldn't have to take that last look at Bobby, the one that could convince him not to go. Stay and pretend nothing has changed. Sammy is just on the longest beer run...

As he slid into the seat of the Impala and gripped the steering wheel, it felt unfamiliar.

The Impala had been their home, a source of comfort and his savior. Now, it was just too big.

Once on the highway, he drove as fast as the car would let him. Whether he was running away or running to, he didn't know. It took only a quick glance at the passenger seat for the truth to hit him. He could hear his brother say, "You know I'm not coming back".

His entire life he had one job. Take care of your little brother. Well, your little brother is gone.

He drove for hours. No matter what was on the radio or what else he tried to think about, he couldn't clear his head.

"You got what you wanted."

By the time he got to Lisa's, he was spent. He barely had enough to knock on the door. And when she asked him if he was okay, the answer was a big no, but he kept that to himself.

That was his way and it was his brother. He wasn't ready to share that, not even with her. Lisa and Ben loved him, he knew that. And he loved them, as best he could. He needed them, wasn't that the same?

But he missed his brother and the guilt and responsibilty, he felt, for not being able to change what happened, consumed him. In public, he put on his brave face, the one that stopped at his eyes. But, when he was alone, he reached for his best friend. He didn't seek comfort in people; he found it in a bottle.

What was he supposed to do, now? Get a job? Become a productive member of society? First, he needed a drink. He told himself there wasn't enough whiskey to fill the emptiness, but, he would try. That was a joke to him and produced a half-hearted chuckle.

In between his bouts of drunkeness, Dean tried every book, spell, demon, witch, everything he ever heard of, but no supernatural or unnatural force could help him. Time was meaningless and immeasurable.

On the nights, Lisa found, that Dean was not in bed, she would come downstairs, carrying a blanket. She would always find him on the couch. If she tried to take the bottle from his hand, she would find his grip too strong and let it go. There was no harm in that; it was usually empty.

Those were the nights she would cover him, kiss his forehead, and go back to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean lay on the sofa, his bottle within reach. She decided she would talk to him now.

"It's going to be all right, you know. You're going to be ok."

He moved, restlessly and whispered, "Lee?"

She answered him, "No, but, I'm here to help you. You will get better; I know you." Experience told her how to handle him and what to say. It was proving more difficult than she expected, but she was good at her job. And he was very important to her.

When she was done, she was able to give him his first good night's sleep, in a long time. What was the saying? 'Tomorrow is the first day….' We'll see, however, she was pretty confident that Dean was on his way back.

By the time he awoke, Lisa and Ben had both gone. There was a note on the table in front of him. He read something about 'breakfast in the kitchen'. As he stood, he kicked a bottle but it didn't spill; it was empty. Dean closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. How come he never got used to the hangovers? Maybe today he'll eat; he could always eat.

He shuffles to the kitchen and goes directly for coffee, black. He's thinking it might help the headache. He picks at some bacon and toast. When was the last time he ate? Not feeling better, he headed for the shower. When did he last do that?

The heat and steam helped clear his head and unknot his tension. He felt better, maybe today… After dressing, when did he last wear clean clothes? He went out to the garage. There she was, the Impala, she could lift his spirits.

It took hours. He polished; he cleaned; he stroked her. She was beautiful. Dean actually smiled. But, so much activity exhausted him. He decided he needed a nap.

She could make another visit now. He was sleeping, maybe even dreaming. That would be ideal. She spoke to him as she always did. After a few moments, she realized something was different. He was more alert. He was talking back!

"Who the hell are you?" She was dumbfounded.

"What are you doing in my head?" He wasn't awake but he knew she was there. That wasn't in the handbook. She couldn't imagine how he could sense her, then, she knew, damn that dream root! She answered, "I'm here to help you. You feel better, don't you, about your brother?"

"Sam, what about Sam. Have you hurt him?" His anger was frightening, even though he couldn't hurt her. She knew no other way out; she would have to tell him the truth.

"I can't hurt anyone. I'm here for you. Haven't you ever wondered how people move on after terrible things happen?"

He answered her. "Some people don't move on. How do I know you're really here to help?"

She tried to explain. " How do you think a woman gets over watching her husband's brains splattered all over her pretty pink suit and pill-box hat?" She gave him a minute to think, before continuing. "I once helped a four-year old boy take care of a baby after his mother died in a fire."

Dean's thoughts went back to his brother and he said, "That was you?" She answered that it was and she added, "I have been with you since the day you were born."

"How come I've never seen you before?" She told him that, after a visit, he has to forget. That way, they both stay safe.

Dean asked one last question. "This won't ever go away, will it?" She knew he would feel better, soon.

She answered, "You will forget me, but not what I've done."

And with that, she was gone.

When Ben came from school, he found the garage door opened. He cautiously approached, until he heard the music, Dean's music! Ben walked into the garage and Dean looked up and smiled, even with his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean did forget, until she came back. But he was more comfortable on her next visit. So much so, that he wanted to talk. She tried to explain that no one speaks to her. She does her work and she leaves.

He was the first even to recognize she was there. She had to admit she did enjoy the company. It was nice to have a conversation, no matter how carefully she chose her words. And he was quite inquisitive.

"Well, what should I call you?" He asked.

"I've never had a name. I've never needed one."

Dean said he didn't understand. He had to call her something. He could make something up. He made a couple of suggestions, much to her displeasure.

She stopped him. "Don't, please." She thought for a moment before continuing. "Just call me Grace."

Dean realized, the more he asked, the less he knew. He decided to be blunt. "What's the big secret?"

She didn't know how he remembered, but she did know it only happened when she came to him. She felt no danger of exposure. She decided to trust him.

"I've told you that I've been with you since the day you were born, but you're not my only responsibility. You asked how long I've been around; it can't be measured in your time. I do my work in, what you call, the subconscious. My job is to restore. And, before you ask, not everyone has a restorer. The people I help have a destiny, if you will."

He interrupted her. "I don't believe in destiny."

She knew that. She continued. "Then, let me say, responsibilities to fulfill. And I have to make sure they're ready."

Dean was more confused. "But, if you're here to help, why would I have to forget?"

She explained that, exposure was risky. While she was in his mind, she was susceptible to manipulation. That's why she only came when he slept. "There are evil people who prey on others' thoughts."

Dean asked, "Like a Vulcan mind meld?"

She thought, 'He could be so exasperating.' But she said, "No, much more dangerous. Like Charles Manson or Jim Jones. And why do you think everybody hated Hitler?"

She saw the light come on. Dean was satisfied. He asked one last question. "But, wait. You said I had a destiny. What am I supposed to do? I'm not in that life, any more."

"I can't say. But, when you need me, I will be here."

He expected more, so he waited. She gave him what she could.

"We can't know the future, Dean.

"You don't mean 'we'; you mean me."

She mused, "This job was so much easier before you discovered dream root."

Dean was about to answer, but she was gone.

She visited him, one more time, before Sam came back just to be certain. She knew what was ahead for him. He did not. Even so, she didn't expect to see him again for a long time.


End file.
